You respond to the teenager in Latakia with vigor, ready to disseminate his story in the same way you've done before. You try to Skype with the boy but he types to you that he does not have a camera and his microphone is broken. Eventually he disconnects without telling you much. You think this odd at the time and cannot hide your disappointment. A part of you dearly wanted to see and hear one of the activists with which you correspond with daily. Later that day you hear a knocking on the door and, before you can turn around, you hear the wood cracking into splinters. It's only then that you realize you have been duped by Assad's cybersecurity team. Several men, dressed in plain clothes, grab you and Khalil. They put black bags over your heads and before they walk you down the stairs, you hear them say something about taking your computer, about you being able to lead them to all the others... And then your stomach wretches violently.